


the bigger picture

by emotionalpanda



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Motherhood, bee discourse, judy pov, theyre gfs or something close to it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26465941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emotionalpanda/pseuds/emotionalpanda
Summary: 5 times Judy feels like a Real Mom
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 27
Kudos: 104





	the bigger picture

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to bethchildz for the beta! its soft judy hours

Judy’s on parent teacher conference duty: a job she holds close to her heart because, really, being a parent is all she’s ever wanted, and now she’s allowed to be here, listening to the teacher describe Henry’s recent outbursts. 

It’s invigorating. 

“Your son screamed at one of his classmates and then threw a stapler at the wall. I’m sure you know how inappropriate that is. Now, I let him off with a warning, because normally he’s a good kid. Straight A’s, helpful in the classroom, good manners…”

The teacher, a grey haired lady who seems to have a frown permanently etched onto her face, rambles on about Henry’s behavior.

“I’ll take care of it,” Judy interrupts her, “It must’ve been a full moon or something…” Judy whispers to herself in contemplation.

“What was that?”

“Oh nothing. Thank you so much for the update on Henry. I’ll be sure to teach him some meditative exercises. That won’t happen again!” 

When Judy gets home, Jen greets her at the door with a glass of wine. 

“This glass has your name on it,” Jen says and hands it over as soon as Judy sets her purse down.

Judy looks at the glass, looking for her name, before realizing it was a figure of speech.

“Long day? How did the conference go?” Jen asks, a soft look in her eye.

Judy takes a sip and nods, “Super long. The teacher said something about a stapler throwing situation, just a one time thing, hopefully, but I mentioned the moon phases and she looked at me as if I was crazy, so…”

Judy rolls her eyes. Crazy’s always been her middle name. It’s nothing new. 

Jen shakes her head, “That’s bullshit. Just because you’re into some woo-woo shit other people don’t understand doesn’t mean you’re a bad parent.”

Judy looks at Jen, then looks down to the ground, embarrassed, “I mean… I’m not even a real parent…” 

It feels stupid, being this insecure (out loud) about her place in the world, about her role in this mashed-together household, but her therapist had said it’s important to communicate with your loved ones, so she lets the vulnerability crawl up into her chest and admits it. 

“Stop it,” Jen says. She comes closer to Judy, putting her hands on Judy’s shoulders. She then touches Judy’s chin with one finger, tilting Judy’s head up until their eyes meet. 

“Stop it,” Jen says, quieter this time, “You are to me.”

* * *

They take a trip to the playground, even though Charlie claims in a grumpy voice that he’s “too old for that shit.” He kind of is, but Jen says something about the importance of fresh air, and that “just because that nightmare girl Shandy is an indoor child, doesn’t mean you two have to be,” and so it’s decided. 

They find a decent picnic bench, one that’s not been taken over by pesky yellow jackets. Jen insists that all wasps are useless, evil creatures, and Judy smiles at how wrong Jen is.

“You know, I know wasps are like,” Judy’s voice turns to a whisper, “ _bitches_ , but…”

“But what?” Jen replies, amusement hanging in her voice, “Are you really going to defend the honor of wasps right now, Judes? Okay, let me hear it.”

Judy smiles at the nickname. Whenever Jen calls her that, Judy feels like she’s living a second life as a frozen chocolate chip muffin that’s been placed in the microwave to defrost for too long. All melty and warmer than expected. She almost forgets to answer.

“Okay, so… wasps are… bitches… but, they’re like, _environmentally important bitches_ , and we still need to respect them. I know it’s hard. They’re so mean! But we need all the pollinators we can get, so I say we just let them be?”

Jen rests her hand on Judy’s and leans closer. Jen’s face is doing a horrible job trying to hold back a smile, it’s clear that whatever comes out of her mouth next is bound to be some stupid joke.

“Well, we can’t let them _bee,_ Judy. They’re wasps.” 

Jen looks so proud of herself, and Judy’s okay with all that smugness because it means that Jen’s happy with herself. That’s all that Judy’s ever wanted. Jen being happy.

“Mom!” Henry calls out from the direction of the swing set, “Mom!” He comes running back to the table, drops of blood peeking out from the skin of his knee. 

“Hey boop,” Jen starts. She reaches into her purse. But, Henry’s not asking for Jen.

“Mom, did you pack the bandaids with the cartoon ducks on them?”

He’s asking for Judy.

* * *

It’s homecoming season, and Charlie’s decided that this time, he actually wants to go to the school dance. This time, he has someone to go with him: some cute girl from his geometry class named Riley. He says something about polygons and how Riley helps him with his homework. Judy doesn’t really remember anything about geometry.

High school’s like one tiny grain of sand in the big shore of life, Judy thinks, or at least homecoming is.

Judy never went.

She wants Charlie to have a great, memorable night, the kind you put in a scrapbook or a google photo album, whatever the kids are doing with their memories nowadays. 

She wants it to be perfect.

They take a trip to a store to look for the perfect outfit for Charlie’s big dance. He’s rifling through the racks of suits and Judy watches Jen crinkle her nose. The racks are adjacent to the perfume department and the floral scents are a little strong and grandma-y. Judy thinks Jen must be more of a clean linen smell kind of gal. 

“What about this one?” Charlie asks, holding up a vivid blue suit jacket. 

Jen jokes, “Who do you think you are, Aquaman? I’m kidding, Char. I think it’d look great.”

Charlie turns to Judy, and patiently waits for her opinion. It feels like a big moment and Judy’s still not used to the whole my-opinion-matters-to-people-now thing. 

He holds eye contact and smiles at Judy.

“Mom, what do you think?” 

* * *

Judy’s sitting with Jen on the couch in the outdoor living room. Judy still can’t believe Jen has an outdoor living room; it’s such a far stretch from Judy’s childhood. She can’t figure out how she got here, but she’s thankful for serendipity and mistakes and fate and whatever else that led her to the only good change of her life: living with Jen. 

It’s dark out, and the boys are asleep, or should be asleep (Charlie is a little too old for a real bedtime), and Jen’s more somber than usual.

“Hey,” Jen speaks, “If anything ever happens to me… Something bad, I mean…”

“It won’t. I won’t let it,” Judy replies.

“Judy, please. Just let me fucking talk. If anything horrible happens to me, like if I get arrested, or if I get killed by some narcissistic man, or if climate change wrecks us and gives California some crazy hail storm with tennis ball sized rocks of ice and I get hit in the head… if anything like that happens, I want you to take over.”

“What, like the world?” Judy jokes, trying to lighten the heaviness of the conversation. She doesn’t want to think about the possibility of Jen ever being in harm’s way.

“Judy.”

“Sorry.”

“No. Don’t be sorry. I love your jokes. It’s just that…”

Jen grabs Judy’s hands and moves closer to her on the couch. 

She continues, “I don’t know, Judes, it’s just that you’re a better mother to my boys—our boys—than I’ve ever been. Mothering must be in your fucking DNA or something, it’s really amazing how much of a natural you are at it. And whatever happens to me, or to the world, I want you to know that you’re their mom too.”

Judy’s eyes well up with tears (she’s always close to crying, being a pisces is just like that), and she pulls Jen in for a hug. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me,” Judy says, as her tears stain Jen’s shirt. 

Jen presses a kiss into her hair, “I think I do.”

* * *

They sign Henry up for art classes, because Judy insists that he’s a creative soul that just needs a canvas and some guiding. Jen shrugs and agrees.

The art classes are held at the local art studio, an old building that smells like paint and newspaper and maybe a faint hint of cat fur. Judy thinks it’s charming. 

Every week Henry returns from class with a giant black bag of loose art supplies. His hands stay caked with remnants of pastel dust. Judy tries to use her best firm mothering tone when telling Henry that he has to wash his hands more than once to get it all off before dinner. 

He paints a lot of birds: clumsy orbs of red and blue on trees. He moves on to painting dogs: dalmatians with splatters of spots and big warm eyes. He tries landscapes and fruit bowls and vases, book covers and sunsets. He progresses so quickly, Judy’s overwhelmed with pride.

One breezy February day, Henry comes home from art class holding a big piece of canvas and Judy gives a knowing look to Jen that says _wonder what this one’s gonna be…_

Henry leans the canvas against the nearest wall and moves out of the way so everyone can see it. 

“My last assignment was a family portrait.” 

The painting’s a little rough around the edges. The brushstrokes are messy, but full of such heart that Judy can’t help but think it might be the best painting she’s ever seen.

It frames four smiling people, silliness on their features, huddled together before a black background. It looks like a painting version of a photo booth picture. It fills Judy with a sense of un-nostalgia, a misplaced yearning, because she realizes that everything she’s craved is right here in front of her. It’s not some long lost happiness. It’s her present and her future. It’s real.

That’s her family in the painting: Jen’s sea green eyes, Charlie’s lopsided smile, Henry’s curls, Judy’s smile lines. It’s all right there in the swipes of acrylics turned into dashes of belonging. _Her family._ _Her kids._

“I wanted Mom to have something nice for her birthday,” Henry says. 

Henry looks at Judy and his eyes are so full of love and wonder; as if Judy had built his whole world with her bare hands. And maybe Henry thinks she did.

“I hope you like it, Mom.”


End file.
